17 June 2011

editor's note. This is the email the BlazeBlog's author sent to his co-workers on his last day. I've taken out the stuff that didn't have anything to do with his beliefs.

Colleagues, former colleagues and (most importantly) friends,

Please allow me to take a moment from your busy end
of semester thrash to express my sincere and enduring thanks for your
kind words and gift on Wednesday. Though I suspect Walt and Steve are
most to blame for both the idea and the execution,
the picture carries its true impact because of the words you all added
to it. Your kind and sincere wishes moved me very nearly to the point of
tears.

So again, thank you.

(If you don’t want to hear further thoughts, close and delete now)

I’m not leaving because the district is giving me
the axe, or because my ideological differences with the overall district
philosophy have become untenable. When it comes down to brass tacks, I
don’t know that I would ever leave over a
philosophical difference. In reality, no matter how big your
differences are with what the district or building does, you make a
difference inside your classroom. Never underestimate the impact you can
have on students, and never forget how large that impact
becomes when amplified by time.

Too often, we as teachers work and grind and focus
only on the frustration of trying to reach the 10% of students who are
hardest to reach. I would encourage you today to think about the 90% of
students who came through your room that you
impacted. Further, take a moment to think about the top 10%, the
students on whom you had a significant enough impact that you changed
their lives.

Most of them aren’t mature enough to say thank you.
Many of them don’t yet realize that you’ve changed their lives. They
might not realize for ten years. In fact, they may never say “thank
you.”

This is the great failing of the data movement. It
wants to quantify those things which cannot be quantified. It wants raw,
cold, unseeing numbers to show the decision makers the impact that
teachers are having. You and I know that numbers
can never show how you helped a student make friends, gain
self-confidence, or learn an abstract concept. A state or national test
can never show the hours you spent encouraging a slow worker, making
accommodations for tests, or grading an assignment a student
worked harder on than they’ve ever worked before.

But you know, in your heart and mind, that you’ve changed kids’ lives for the better.

So, no matter how chaotic the district becomes, no
matter what the newspaper says, no matter what absurd documentation
requirement the federal government places on your plate; keep helping
kids. I know the temptation is great (especially
at this time of year) to think about walking away from the classroom.
You think you can’t do it anymore. You look at a calendar and say, “The
average for teachers is three years. I’ve beaten that. I’ve done my
time. I’m getting out.” Please think twice. Is
there a greater place to work than a high school? I don’t think so. Is
there a more important job in a world of broken homes, staggering
technological change, and constantly shifting social norms than that of
the guide for confused young people? I don’t think
so.

Be that guide. Use your knowledge and experience to
help young people navigate their world. They need your help now more
than ever.

I know that those of you who know me think that
this (admittedly lengthy) diatribe is very unlike me. You think of the
guy yelling in the teachers’ lounge, snapping his rubber band until it
breaks. After all, I’m Mr. Reality, which often
seems like Mr. Negative. However, think back. That anger is almost
never about students. They’re dumb. I think you knew that when you
signed up for the job. Being angry because students do dumb things is
like being angry because the sun comes up.

Don’t let your anger and frustration with
administration or laws, or class size, or parents, or or or drive you
away from teaching. None of those things are kids’ fault. If you leave,
you will be replaced by people who aren’t as good as
you are.

Listen, I know this is easy for me to say, because
I’m a short-timer now. But I think most of you know, in your heart, that
teaching is the only thing you’re good at that matters in the world.
Don’t let foolishness outside your classroom
door force you out of the schoolhouse door.

I’ll close with a story from one of my college
methods classmates. He started at Purdue as an Engineering major. In ENG
100 (Intro to Engineering) they brought in an Engineer from a different
discipline every week. During the mechanical
engineering week, they brought in a Mechanical Engineer who worked for
Maytag. He described his life’s work as making the Calypso-Action
washing machine. My classmate left that lecture, went to his advisor,
and started the process to become an Education major.
I asked him why he walked away from the lower stress and better pay in
engineering. His answer?

“I don’t want my legacy to be a washing machine”.

Don’t let your legacy be a washing machine. Make your legacy the lives that you change every day.

Thanks again, it’s been more than a pleasure to
teach with all of you for the last 60% of a decade. I wish you nothing
but the best.